


The Tao of Stripe

by facetiousfutz



Category: South Park
Genre: Canon-typical language, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Philosophy, Spiritual, Tao Te Ching, The Tao of Pooh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-08 23:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13469385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetiousfutz/pseuds/facetiousfutz
Summary: South Park's most celebrated little homosexual couple steals our hearts once more by engaging in the infinite wisdom that is their beloved corpulent rodent, a guinea pig named Stripe. Why? Why not?Or, Stripe has two dads who love to feed him and play with him. Enjoy it.





	1. The Tao of No Name

**Author's Note:**

> The Tao that can be trodden is not the enduring and  
> unchanging Tao. The name that can be named is not the enduring and  
> unchanging name. - Lao-tzu

It was two o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. Tweek and Craig came inside after hours of sledding on Phil Collins hill. The wind picked up, chilling them to the bone. Well, Tweek mostly. He was always the one who forgot his coat, hat, and gloves. Craig didn’t mind so much, though. That’s how Tweek was. There was no point in fighting it. 

Besides, before they dated, Craig used to stay out longer than he wanted to anyway, hanging out with people he didn’t like because there was nothing better to do. Part of it was that he didn’t want to be lonely. Being lonely was what losers did, at least by the standards of fourth grade children. He wasn’t actually lonely. That much he knew. At one time or another. He loved his family and his guinea pig. He didn’t mind being by himself in his room before. He’d made his home a lonely place by naming it such, and so it was, limiting his enjoyment of being alone in his home.

“We should give Stripe a carrot,” said Tweek. “I can hear him squeaking from my room.” 

“He’s getting fat,” said Craig, smiling. 

“Argh. Guinea pigs are supposed to be fat.” 

Tweek grabbed a single baby carrot and headed up to his room. He took care of Stripe on the weekends when his parents didn’t make him work, and Craig spent a lot more time at Tweek’s house because of it. That was fine. He hadn’t decided that Tweek’s house was lonely, after all. 

They had a petty fight not too long ago. Tweek got it in his head that Craig only cared about the damn guinea pig, which is why he came over every weekend. Craig, wrongly accused, yelled “you’re right!” and left with Stripe in his arms, slamming the door behind him. He’d rather be lonely with Stripe then deal with this shit.

Fifteen minutes later he returned to Tweek, soaked in rain, his head held low, since it hurt more to be mad than it did to be together, and Craig didn’t want to do things that hurt if he didn't have to. Craig insisted it was for Stripe’s sake at the time. Stripe needed Tweek, he said. What he meant was that he needed Tweek, but it was too embarrassing to say, so he let his actions speak for themselves. He did care about his guinea pig, but he cared about Tweek, too, so he never walked out the door with Stripe in a huff ever again. 

“Tweek,” said Craig, as he and Tweek strolled upstairs. “It’s so weird.” 

“What is?” 

“How well this guinea pig has us trained.” 

“He doesn’t have us trained,” said Tweek. “He’s a guinea pig. He has to eat.” 

“I know, but he’s always hungry, and he poops a lot.” 

“What’s your point?” 

Craig shrugged. “I don’t really have one. I just like talking about Stripe.” 

“Ngah, OK,” said Tweek. They entered his room and offered their corpulent rodent a treat. Stripe crunched and chewed that baby carrot like it was the greatest gift in the world. As they did every Saturday afternoon, Tweek and Craig sat on the floor and watched their little buddy munch away. It was fascinating to watch, really. 

Usually they didn’t talk much while Stripe had his treat, but Craig was in a strange mood all day. Out of the blue, he asked, “you think guinea pigs have names?” 

“What do you mean?” said Tweek. “They’re called guinea pigs, aren’t they?” 

“I don’t mean like the name of their species. I mean, like, OK. You know all the different ways Stripe can squeak and chirp and stuff?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, what if they have their own language? And gave each other names?” said Craig. “What if Stripe has a guinea pig name that's something else entirely? What if he isn't really named Stripe?”

Tweek looked down at the oblivious creature, chew chew chewing and loving every second of it. 

“Agh. I don’t think he does.” 

“Why’s that?”

“Ngh! It’s... I don’t think he sees things the way we do? I don’t know.”

“Sometimes I wish I knew what he was thinking,” said Craig. 

“Do guinea pigs even think, though?” said Tweek. “Because I always thought they just kind of sat there.” 

“Well, yeah. They do just kind of sit there, but think about it. There’s a whole world we don’t even know about happening inside that little guinea pig and I want to know about it.” 

Stripe raised his head up, pausing for a moment, then resumed chewing. 

“That’d be cool, I guess,” Tweek considered. “Still. I already like the Stripe that I know. I think the mystery makes him even cuter.” 

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” said Craig. 

The inner world of Stripe required no definition, for the moment it was given one, it would cease to be the boundless world that is Stripe. To put it another way, it wouldn’t be the true Stripe. To be given human traits is to be given human baggage, and Stripe didn’t need baggage. He needed treats and he needed company at a moment's notice. Such is the infinite wisdom of Stripe.


	2. And the Lord said, Feed Thy Guinea Pig!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the Mystery is the deepest is the gate of all that  
> is subtle and wonderful. - Lao-tzu

“Wow. That’s a lot of Likes,” said Craig, staring at his phone incredulously. “I didn’t even know I had that many friends on facebook.” 

“Why do you keep adding them?” Tweek asked, while petting Stripe’s fluffy head. “Agh! I got, like, five-hundred friend requests from total strangers that keep freaking me out!” 

“Why? It’s just facebook. Don’t take it so seriously.” 

“It’s not just facebook, Craig!” Tweek was bug-eyed at the very thought, and Stripe nibbled at his finger because he had to pee. He took the arm full of chub back to his cage, muttering a whole lot of crap Craig had already heard before. Quizzes track your information. Google tracks your information. Mark Zuckerberg sells your information to corporations who advertise at you. Everyone knows your name, face, and credit card number, that is, if Craig had a credit card, which he doesn’t because he’s ten and his parents aren’t rich. He’s heard it all before, and given that his response was to accept every friend request, he really didn’t care. 

It was his way of dealing with the town’s obsession. Tweek and Craig were the most beloved couple in South Park. It was only a matter of time before they went on Ellen and MSNBC and received national recognition, because that’s exactly the type of thing one can expect if they’re in any sort of lime light in the quiet little mountain town of South Park. Craig was bracing himself for it, and Tweek was avoiding it as long as possible. Two coping strategies. 

Of course, Craig would be lying if he said he wasn’t a fan of what he had going with Tweek and Stripe. They were like a little family, and Craig was proud of his little family. His little family inspired joy in others, and where Craig didn’t understand how or why, he also didn’t mind taking the occasional group selfie to appease them, as long as they weren’t buttholes about it. He’d just block them if they were, though. Craig saves his biting sarcasm and middle finger for face-to-face interactions only.

Craig had about fifty people comment on a selfie he’d taken with Tweek and Stripe yesterday, and where most of the comments were “wow!! so cute!!” once in awhile he got comments that really grabbed his attention. 

Such as this unexpected bit from God Himself: 

“There is unwieldy power behind this image. One that I Myself am unable to put into words that humans can conceive. I am truly impressed, as My true form is also inconceivable. All that I may offer humanity is a mere approximation of My boundless form, so it is with you and all of My creations. Go forth and continue as you are, for as long as your heart remains pure, and your love remain true, there is no measurable scope for the miracles you can achieve. Stripe, My child, you make Me and your fathers proud.” 

“Do you think kids in any other town are friends with the real God on facebook?” said Craig. 

"Augh! How should I know? How do we even know that’s the real God, anyway?” 

“Dude, we’re friends with Jesus and Buddha. And Kyle and Butthole friends with Moses. And Stan’s friends with Satan. And Kenny’s descended from Cthulu, or something. And Butters is the sole savior of our imaginations. And Cartman’s been peed on by Mel Gibson. How far out of our reach is God at this point? I mean, really?” 

“I dunno!” said Tweek. “I thought that was the whole point of God. That God is some big, inconceivable mystery, or whatever.” 

“If it is the real God,” said Craig. “Then he has good taste in guinea pigs.” 

Stripe popcorned to that! Then he found some hay to chew on. Some call the overarching unity of all existing things God. Others call it the Universe. A Taoist may call it the Tao. And, in the divine tapestry of the infinite in which we are all intricately woven, you will find Stripe as he waits patiently, trusting that his next meal and scratch between the ears is only moments away. There isn’t always an explanation for how or why things are the way they are in this world. Who knows if the real God is on facebook? One could argue that He must be, because if we are each God, and we are all on facebook, God would therefore have to be on facebook, experiencing it through us. Who knows if there is a God at all? One could also argue that there is no God. That is their choice, and you won't find a single guinea pig who doesn't respect that. A gentle hand that feeds them is a gentle hand that feeds them, and a gentle hand that feeds them is a good hand. A hand worth loving.

Whatever the case may be, Craig grabbed a bag of chopped romaine from the kitchen, and Stripe squeaked and hopped around, grateful for this present moment, where he would be fed and loved as he should be.


	3. No Good Days, No Bad Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misery!--happiness is to be found by its side! Happiness!--misery  
> lurks beneath it! Who knows what either will come to in the end? - Lao-tzu

Craig woke up one morning and knew it’d be a miserable day. It was the first thought that came to his fuzzy, achy mind and it stuck. As it stuck, he proceeded to stub his toe on the way to the shower, and after his shower he attempted to brush his teeth, but his toothbrush flew out of his hand and landed behind the toilet, right in the grimy, hairy spot that no one ever bothers to mop. He’d envisioned himself dropping his toothbrush in that exact spot enough times throughout his life and, lo and behold, it finally happened. He had to dig some tiny travel-sized toothbrush out of the back of the cabinet, and thanked God for that. He had a boyfriend now. He couldn’t afford to have morning breath ever. 

He’d made it to school without much of a problem. Cartman and Butters were throwing things at each other over his head, and he just sat on his phone playing Angry Birds. One crumpled piece of paper landed on his shoulder. He uncrumpled it to find a crude crayon drawing of Kyle’s mom with an ugly penis. When he got off the bus, he didn’t even have to say a damn thing when he handed the drawing to Kyle. Kyle made a b-line for Cartman and pushed him into the school building. A crowd gathered around, cheering for blood, and Craig took a video of it on his phone. Cartman was getting his ass kicked a lot more lately and Craig took to documenting it every chance he got. He figured all this video evidence would come in handy someday. 

It occurred to him about thirty seconds into the video that Tweek should be here, watching the spectacle. His mom always drove him to school, because it was flu season, and they simply couldn’t afford for Tweek to come home on a bus infested with the nasty virus. 

Mrs. Tweak never pulled up to the school, though. It was entirely possible that she dropped Tweek off before Craig’s bus got there, so it was no big deal honestly. 

But then the fight broke up, and everyone but Cartman and Kyle were directed to their classrooms. Tweek was absent that day. Tweek did have a bit of a headache and complained of a dry mouth the night before, but hadn’t said anything about not coming into school. Headache and dry mouth were problems that too much coffee caused, so why would Craig even bat an eyelash? 

Not to mention, Tweek did miss a lot of school. He had problems with anxiety and night terrors and shit. Sometimes he would zonk out and sleep until four in the afternoon. His parents didn’t always make him get up. He usually got about one freebie a month in that regard, and it was about that time, come to think of it. No wonder Craig had a feeling today was gonna suck. Tweek was right on schedule for not being there. 

And Tweek wasn’t the only one. Five other students were absent. They all had the flu, or something. Tweek wouldn’t have the flu, would he? No. Him and his parents all got flu shots, and even Craig got a flu sot, despite never having one before. His parents didn’t believe they were necessary, until some kid died of the flu two months ago. It was in the news and everything, but for the life of him Craig couldn’t remember which kid it was. He could have sworn it was a kid who went to their school, though. He’d ask Kenny later. Kenny was always up to date on death and death-related news. 

When he did ask Kenny, though, the boy in the orange parka glared at him and told him to drown in a vat of cum. Well that was rude. Fuck you, too, man. 

At lunch, Craig sneaked out by the dumpster, not far from where the goths liked to chill and listen to crappy music. He dialed Tweek’s number, and got an answer in a ring and a half.

“Hey,” said Tweek, his voice scratchy. Barely audible. “Don’t... don’t come over today. I have the flu.” 

“How?” said Craig, his chest sinking. “That’s not possible. I thought you got vaccinated.” 

“I did. But...” Tweek coughed and hacked a bit, and Craig jerked away from the phone. The response was irrational. The flu couldn’t be transmitted over the phone. Nevertheless, Craig‘s skin was crawling. 

“It’s fine,” Tweek wheezed. Craig could hear him taking an inhaler over the phone and cringed. He knew the flu vaccine wasn’t always totally effective. Everybody knew that. He also know the flu vaccine could ease severe symptoms, but it sounded like there was nothing easy about the sudden onset of symptoms Tweek had at the moment. Craig just hoped the vaccine and medication helped keep Tweek from having a fever high enough to fry his brains. 

“It’s not that bad” said Tweek. “I’m just... waiting for my medicine to kick in.” 

“Not that bad?” said Craig. “You always freak out about getting sick. How are you so calm?” Craig wanted to freak out, if he was honest. 

“That’s when I’m not sick. I can’t do anything about it if I already am sick,” said Tweek. “There’s no point in freaking out now.

“Besides, Stripe’s taking good care of me. Thank you for letting me take him this week.” 

“Sure, babe,” said Craig. “I mean, he’s your guinea pig. You paid for him.” 

“He’s our guinea pig, stupid,” said Tweek, who proceeded to cough once more. “I should go. Text me.” 

“OK,” said Craig. “Love you.” And he hung up the phone. He sighed, shooting Tweek text after text until the smell of cigarette smoke hit the back of his tongue. Four goth kids were standing there, staring at him like some puzzling conundrum. 

“Um, listen. This is our spot,” said Henrietta. 

“Yeah. We didn’t invite some Provincetown conformist to come back here and gay up our day.” 

“Well that’s too bad, because I’m not moving,” said Craig, who proceeded to text Tweek without a care in the world. 

“The least you could do is get the clothes to look like us,” said Pete. “Fucking conformist.”

“Yeah. And pray to the lord of darkness, showering in the crimson blood of mortals as thy twink is consumed in plague germs,” said Firkle. Craig raised one eyebrow at that weird ass kid, then went right back to what he was doing. 

“It’s not the plague. It’s the flu. Lots of kids have it,” Craig corrected. 

“Wow,” said Henrietta. “What do we have to say to get your gay little conformist ass to dress goth, or go away?” 

“Suck my dick,” said Craig. Then he got up and left of his own accord. The bell was about to ring anyway. 

Craig was miserable the whole rest of the day, but Tweek was generous with photos of Stripe. No selfies, but he had the flu, so he was bound to look like shit anyway. Craig thumbed through every single picture Tweek took. It was endearing how blurry and unfocused many of them were. Tweek had many talents, but photography wasn’t one of them. Even so, despite Craig’s bad mood. Despite not having Tweek around. Despite getting an F on his last math test. Despite the freezing rain and the headache building behind his eyes, he knew his little Stripe was taking care of Tweek, so maybe things weren’t all bad.

And Tweek, he didn’t have much energy to do anything. He took all of his meds, but he was still sore all over. Somehow his parents let him have all the coffee in the world, but didn’t believe in pain killers, so Tweek would just be sore from head to toe through every waking hour. He drank a lot of water, and thank God he could hold it down. His dad was disappointed in him for getting the flu, claiming it was bad for the coffee business, because of course that’s what his dad cared about. Whatever. He had Stripe. He had cartoons. And once Craig got home, they were going to Skype, even if Craig did all the talking. Tweek and Stripe both liked the sound of Craig’s voice, so it all worked out.

Perhaps today, like any other day, wasn’t all bad. It wasn’t all good either, but considering the circumstances, it was just good enough. If you asked Stripe, every day was like that, but he couldn’t tell you that because he’s a guinea pig. He wasn’t capable of conceiving of good or bad days, which was for the best. The sound of Tweek’s coughing startled him a few times, but mostly he sat there in his cage and ate Timothy hay. Then he took a poop and went to sleep. Such is the wisdom that is Stripe. No good days. No bad days. Just good food and lots of pets. Even the scary things in life weren’t so bad, with all the nice and simple things around to balance it all out.


	4. Love Who You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you really want to be happy? You can begin by being appreciative of who you are and what you've got. - Benjamin Hoff, The Tao of Pooh

Precious few children of South Park Elementary were truly happy, and those who occasionally stumbled upon the feeling didn't understand it, thus made it fleeting as the spring season. Even less fourth graders than that were happy. Day in and day out, Mr. Garrison’s class was packed with confused, tired, frowning children. Timmy seemed like the happiest kid in class, but for all the other children knew, his toothy grin and cries of “libby-luh Timmuh!” may have been cries for help. Who could truly say? Then there was Butters, painfully optimistic despite the many wrongs he had endured, but mostly people hated him, because he was such a Melvin some days, and such a Cartman on others. Rarely did he get to be a Butters, because he didn't know how to love himself consistently. He came closer than most others, though. 

Aside from that, you won’t find too many happy faces in Garrison’s class. 

Tweek was especially unhappy when the year started. He’d worked tireless hours at the coffee shop over the summer, testing products, twitching, spazzing out, never sleeping when it was dark, sleeping all too often when it was light. He’d once fallen asleep leaning against his broom, and was rudely jolted awake upon falling over. His father told him to stop goofing off, and that pissed Tweek off, because he wasn’t goofing off! 

The last thing he’d expected to find that year was love. 

He’d never pursued anyone romantically. If he ever did have a crush, it went as soon as it came, and he couldn’t remember. Had he ever liked anyone before Craig? Like, anyone? Boys? Girls? Anyone? He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. He was so tired and stressed out he couldn’t conceive of such things. 

It didn’t matter, though. 

It really didn’t. 

When Mr. Garrison disappeared on election year, only to become the largest dearth of sanity and all that is good in the world, Tweek was fairly certain that they were all going to die. This certainty often caused him stress so severe that it crushed his chest and boxed him in the roaring miasma of dark thoughts and paranoia. When this dread reached its peak, he stayed home from school and hid under the covers, wishing he could disappear from all the horrors in the world. 

Other days, precious days, he’d throw his head above the water and take a deep breath. Then he would have his coffee, his meds, and head to school. Craig would grab his hand and ask if everything was OK. 

“No,” Tweek would say. Everything was not OK. Most things were scary and wrong. He just wished he could get away from it all. “Everything is fucked, except...” 

He squeezed Craig’s hand, and Craig understood. Then he dropped it, and they walked to school together. It was a long walk, but long walks helped Tweek clear his mind. Craig was a quiet boy mostly, mostly. Sometimes people got him going. Sometimes Tweek got him going. Mostly, he said little. There was nothing to say. Words were cheap anyway.

When Tweek looked over at him, though, he felt lighter on the inside. Craig was so calm. He was solid, yet soft. A comfortable place to land after days, weeks, months, years. Years. Years of stress. Years of paranoia. Years of tummy trouble, chest pain, headaches, heart murmurs, shaking, and sweating. Especially sweating. His dad thought he lost all of his hats and winter jackets and called him a spaz. In actuality, Tweek just refused to wear them. He was always sweaty because he was always stressed out. 

That never changed. Tweek never expected that it would. What did change, though, was that Craig was here. Well, Craig was always around, sure, but Craig was HERE here. Craig was present in Tweek’s bubble, a place most people couldn’t seem to tolerate. That was fine. Tweek’s tolerance for social interaction was relatively low anyway. 

Craig being here made it so easy. Tweek found himself appreciating life more. He’d taken his hobbies and school work more seriously. He’d been sleeping more consistently. No more than four hours at a time on any given day, but it was an improvement. Even his doctor was impressed. 

Craig’s comfort zone was very small, and his vested interests were few and far between. It was an honor, in a way, for Craig to take interest in Tweek. Tweek couldn’t deny that it helped him look within, and find things to love and appreciate about himself. That meant so much to him. Who knows if Craig meant to do that? Who cares? 

They stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, a block away from Tom’s Rhinoplasty. Craig turned and asked what was up, and Tweek grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him between the eyes. 

“Wow, OK,” said Craig, pleasantly surprised. Usually he was the one dishing out kisses and touches. It wasn’t that Tweek was shy, but he was nervous about initiating anything. “Where’d that come from?” 

“Can’t a guy kiss his boyfriend anymore?” said Tweek, this time leaning in for a peck on the lips. Craig grabbed him by the hips and pressed his lips to Tweek’s even harder. Something about Tweek was so goddamn attractive that morning. Well, Tweek was always attractive, but when he was in a good mood like this, it was magical. 

That mood carried them through the day. They stole so many kisses that day. By the water fountain. At their lockers. Behind the slides. The girls cooed. The boys watched in awe and confusion. Kenny cheered "woo-hoo!" at one point. 

Before they knew it, school was out, and they went directly to Craig’s house, where Stripe was waiting. Stripe knew what Tweek knew. Not in words, though. Guinea pigs don’t think in words. Words are a finite expression. Humans barely touch the surface when putting feelings into words, and that’s if they can even get that far. Stripe put up his nose, having absolute faith that his humans would gently approach him. They would stroke his fur, clean his droppings, and tell him stories. He didn’t understand the words. He understood the emotion, and on this day, a very warm story that flowed through the three of them. 

They were lost in a moment of full appreciation. They loved themselves, which is to love each other fully and completely. On this precious day, they were free of doubt and illness, and free of separation. They were happy, because they were one, and they let it be. Such is the wisdom of Stripe and the kind hands who feed and play with him.


End file.
